


a lover with a fire in his heart

by breadpoetsociety



Category: South Park
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Christmas, Fake/Pretend Relationship, First Kiss, M/M, Meeting the Parents, Mutual Pining, Sharing a Bed, its gay, this is just one big excuse for me to have intense moments of mutual pining okay
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-14
Updated: 2017-12-31
Packaged: 2019-02-14 16:22:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 14,290
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13011582
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/breadpoetsociety/pseuds/breadpoetsociety
Summary: Craig told his mom he's bringing his boyfriend home for Christmas. Only one problem: Craig doesn't have a boyfriend.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> damn bread!!! back at it again with tired tropes and useless homosexuals
> 
> i recently fell into creek, and south park by association, which is totally chill bc it's not like i had a social life anyway, so have some good mutual pining set to christmas music
> 
> title taken from "last christmas" by wham! bc i love wham!
> 
> ok so uhhhh notes. the rating might change? idk these are college students so be prepared for Inappropriate Language, Sexual Content and General Tomfoolery
> 
> and thank you to my fave "creekslut" bwyn for making this not trash i adore you and im so sorry

 

“I’m just saying, dude.” Clyde’s hands framed his face, intensely staring down his friends. He was surrounded by textbooks, papers, laptops and notecards— all ignored in favor of their discussion. “I’m  _ just saying _ .”

“Th-this is not something you—you ge-get to  _ just say _ .” Jimmy stammered out, mimicking Clyde’s tone, and Craig deigned to nod along with him. In the corner of his eye, he could see Tweek watching this unfold with a growing interest, and he resisted the urge to stare more fully.  

“S-see, this is how I know finals are getting to you.” Tweek joked, and the rest of the boys laughed— save for Clyde, who only dug deeper.

“You  _ really _ wouldn’t fuck Rouge the Bat?” Clyde’s voice held a concerning amount of incredulity, and his brown eyes were narrowed in suspicion. “I don’t believe you.”

“No, I would not.” Craig responded with finality. His nasally voice lacked emotion even as his words enveloped his best friend in a cloud of disgust. “She’s a gross bat. No one would fuck a bat.”

As if on cue, Token arrived bearing gifts and blessedly interrupting Clyde’s ridiculous argument. “I’m back, and I don’t want to know what you were talking about.” Hands reached out to take their wares: “One bag of peach rings for Clyde, pretzels for Jimmy, and of course a coffee for our resident addict.”

“T-Thank you, Token.” Tweek said from his spot at the end of the table. Caty-corner from Craig, just in his line of sight. How it always seems to be between them. Tweek’s smile fell to Craig after receiving the coffee from their friend, and it just grew wider when its bitter aroma hit him.

But a voice pulled Craig away from the blond, green eyes falling on another friend: “Hey fellas!”

“Hey, Butters.” Token said warmly, gesturing to the table decorated with study materials. “We’re cranking out finals. Wanna join us?”

“Yeah, that would be swell!” Butters had already squeezed his way past Craig and Jimmy, setting his backpack in the chair across from Tweek, whose shaking hands brought the coffee back towards his mouth. Craig found himself wondering how his teeth stayed so white with all the coffee he drank, but Butters interrupted his train of thought again. “Tweek said you were working here so I thought I’d swing by.”

Tweek’s blue eyes met Craig’s green then, and a shy smile flickered at the corner of his lips. His brows raised. Craig knew this tell; it was him about to apologize, and he cut it off with as much grace as was physically possible. It’s not much, but really, it’s the thought that counts.

“That was really nice of him.” The tall man said instead, and Tweek’s face lit up at the praise. Craig couldn’t help responding in kind, a fond smile forming before Clyde’s laughter invited Craig’s usual stoicism back to the party.

“Oh, I get it now.” Clyde teased, voice just barely lowered. His hands reached behind his head and he leaned back in his chair. “Rogue just isn’t your type. Gentlemen really do prefer blondes.”

Craig turned to stare Clyde dead-on, eyes holding an intense, hateful promise that his best friend shrivelled under. “I’m going to lock you out of the house tonight.”

“Not again, Craig, please.” Clyde begged, hands falling to the table before them, clasped in prayer. 

Craig’s eyes followed the motion and fell to his phone. It was lit with a too-close picture of his mom’s face and a giant green call button. It’s a moment of internal conflict before he acquiesced to the Good Son within him and picked up the phone.

“Hi, sweetie.” His mom’s voice was too saccharine, and almost mockingly well-rested. Craig glared down at his laptop as if that would be enough to finish his homework. 

“Hey, Mom.” Craig mumbled out. 

The rest of the table looked up at his unprovoked words, and the sound of a chair squeaking against the tile floor prematurely interrupted the conversation. Clyde had launched himself across the table, body pressing over his own textbook and Craig’s laptop so he could moan into Craig’s phone.

“Uh! Oh, yeah, Craig! Harder! Harder!” His voice was a horrid mimicry of a girl’s— hardly passable— but the rest of the group still fell into giggle fits as Clyde kept the moans going.

Even his mom was in on the mirth, Craig realized, and her next sentence was filled with laughter: “Tell Clyde I said hello.”

“Why’re you calling?” Craig settled for pushing Clyde off of his shit and back into his chair and flipping him off. That counted as hello in a Tucker’s book.

“Was just driving.” His mom hummed, and Craig realized he could hear the purr of a car in the background and the click-click-click of a turn signal. “Wanted to see when you’re coming home for break!”

Craig’s mind began to wander as he traced lines in the wooden table his hand rested on, following the rivers and tributaries until they were dammed by a thick binder baring the name  _ Tweek Tweak _ . “Uh, not sure yet. Maybe Thursday but I might just stick around.”

“Well, let me know, sweetie. I’m excited to have you back.”

Craig hummed at that, a silent promise to text her at least the  _ day  _ he’s leaving. He found himself staring at Tweek again, watching his left hand tug at his hair while his right splayed out over his textbook, holding the page taut, as if it was about to up and fly away if Tweek let go.

“Yeah, I’m ready to be home.” Craig muttered thoughtlessly, no longer invested in the conversation. 

“How are things?” And here come the usual questions. Craig braced himself for the next one, but it still pricked at him like burrs irritating his skin: “Have you met anyone nice lately?”

“Mom.” Craig groaned, pulling his chullo over his eyes as his brow furrowed in frustration.

“What?”

"Please stop asking that.” Craig tried not to let a whine infect his monotone speech, but exhaustion seemed to really get to him. “You’re not even subtle about it.”

But his mom just laughed, almost mockingly. “Can’t a mother be curious about her son’s love life?”

“Every time you call. You ask  _ every  _ time.” Craig whined again, hand moving from his hat to his face, rubbing his forehead with the heel of his palm. He peeked up to see the rest of the group studying, save for Tweek who was still watching him with amusement in his eyes. Craig gave him an eye-roll and quirked his mouth into a little grin, eliciting a proper laugh from the blond.

“Well, maybe I’m hopeful that you’ll change your answer.” His mom’s tone turned from teasing to her lecturing tone. And Craig was not about to sit through any length of conversation where his mom was lambasting him for not getting laid. 

Something snapped within Craig— perhaps his morals were only so flexible— and with another huff he deadpanned. “Ugh. Fine. Yes, I’m dating someone. Are you happy now?” 

Suddenly, the whole table’s eyes were on Craig, boring into him. Craig’s wry expression twisted into one of confusion and he met Tweek’s eyes again, now wide and burning.

“Oh! Craig!” His mother’s voice jumped about three hundred decibels louder, amplified by honest excitement. Craig wasn’t sure if he should be so offended by how thrilled she was— or by the relief in the sigh that preceded her next sentence. “That’s wonderful! What’s her name?”

“Uh, you’re cutting out, Mom.” Craig lied, poorly. Each word was obviously stilted even to his own ears. Clyde had gone from looking shocked to laughing silently at his predicament, and the rest of the table seeme to be joining in. “Service is bad— I’m in the library. I’ll call you back.”

“Okay, sweetheart, I’ll talk to you late—” 

Her last words were cut off by Craig’s hanging up on her, and he tossed his phone down with an abandon too reckless for a caseless phone. Craig hung his head in his hands, ignoring his friend’s quiet giggling to wallow in his annoyance with his mother.

But as soon as his phone hit the table, the screen lit up again with another call: Tricia Tucker. Craig groaned, head falling back as his fingers violently tapped the green button and then speakerphone. His arms hung limply at his sides in a position of defeat as Tricia’s voice came crackling over Craig’s phone.

“So. Mom said you’re not a virg anymore.”

Well. That was fucking fast. Craig’s eyes fell to Clyde and Token across from him, both attempting to not fall out of their chairs as silent laughter wracked through their bodies. Only Token succeeded. 

“Hello to you too,” Craig deadpanned, shooting a glare Jimmy’s way when he let out a bark of a laugh. Even Butters was tittering at the end of the table, and Tweek could hardly hide his amused smile behind his binder, papers shaking with his laughter. Craig held up a middle finger towards everyone, eyes flat and filled with disappointment.

“I don’t believe you.” His sister continued regardless, voice carrying over the muffled sounds behind her. Someone a few tables over hissed out a  _ shush  _ towards Craig, and he repurposed his middle finger towards their direction. “You? Dating someone? Come on.”

Craig’s face twisted in offense— she was  _ right _ , but also, come the fuck on. He could date people if he wanted to. Probably. If he tried. Maybe. As his mind contemplated his sister’s insult, his mouth settled for mumbling out an “I don’t know what you mean.” 

Tricia responded with an impatient sigh. She was quiet for a moment, and then suddenly was at full volume again without any background noise, broadcasting the next sentence through the entire library hall: “You just said you were seeing someone to get Mom off your back—”

“No.” Craig interrupted with a forceful shake of his head. He could feel the eyes of his friends boring in on him, and stared up at the ceiling in favor of seeing any of their expressions. He could only imagine the glee on Clyde’s face, the horror on Token’s. He tried not to imagine Tweek at all. “I am dating someone.”

“Prove it.” Tricia challenged.

Craig scoffed. “What are we, 12?”

“You smell like it.”

“Har har.” He rolled his eyes as he feigned a laugh at his sister’s joke. Jesus, no one in this family had any sense of humor. “I don’t need to prove it.”

And now his sister let out a genuine laugh. “That just means you can’t.”

Craig felt frustration building up in his throat, threatening to throttle his words if he didn’t spit them out in time. “No! I just don’t need to! My relationship is none of your business, anyway.”

“Your relationship that doesn’t exist, you mean.”

“Agh, you know what, fine.” Craig slammed his hands down on the table, making his studymates jump with the intensity of the sound. Attention was all back on him and he could feel heat rising in his face as the words tumbled out of his mouth: “He’s coming to Christmas with me, so you’ll get your proof then. Happy?”

“Oh?” The tone of her voice terrified Craig. Tricia was certainly happy— and it seemed to be at his expense. She mockingly clarified: “He’s coming to Christmas?”

“Yeah.” Craig mumbled with a definitive nod, as though to convince himself as much as Tricia. 

“Hm. Better tell moooom.” His sister sing-songed. 

“I  _ wiiiiiill _ .” Craig mimicked her voice right back. 

And with another laugh, Tricia skillfully changed the subject, her voice softening. “Also, can you venmo me thirty bucks?”

Craig groaned, dropping his face onto the table. His words were smothered by his cheek pressed hard against the old wood, smelling like Pinesol and pencil lead. “Do I want to ask what it’s for?”

“Nope.” Tricia at least had the decency to give an embarrassed titter after that— but Craig knew she wouldn’t get into any shit he never had before. He was still alive, so she’d sure as hell be fine.  

“I will later today.” He conceded after a moment of quiet. His eyes fluttered shut as though he was going to fall asleep right on the table. “Just be safe.”

“You too. Remember to wear a condom.” Trish barbed.

Craig actually let out a chuckle that that, pairing it with a weak “fuck off.”

“You too.” Craig could practically see his sister throwing up a middle finger at him and a fond smile lingered on his face even as she taunted him. “Can’t wait to meet your  _ boyfriend _ .”

“Whatever. I’ll text you later.”

“Bye, Craigory.” And at that, the phone let out two beeps: the call had ended, and silence fell over the library once again. 

After a moment, Craig pried his face up off the table, the tassel of his chullo having pressed a red line into his cheek. Everyone was staring at him, a silent orchestra of wide eyes and gaping mouths that was broken by Token’s casual cadence. 

“So.” He said, crossing his arms over his sweatshirt, its Greek letters faded from wear. Token cocked his head, eyes narrowing as he stared Craig down. “When do  _ we  _ get to meet this boyfriend?”

And at that, the rest of the table burst into peals of laughter, echoing off those ugly-ass ceiling tiles half the buildings on this campus have. Craig rolled his eyes so hard he was nervous he was about to snap an optic nerve, and they fell to the only one not laughing: Tweek, at the end of the table, freckles dotting flushed cheeks and his blue eyes still so wide. 

Craig opened his mouth to call down to his blond friend when his attention was pulled back by a guffawing Clyde. He seemed to barely get the words out through his gutbusting laughter. “Did you really— Dude. You really said you were bringing someone  _ home _ ? For  _ Christmas _ ?”

“That was p-p-pretty fucking stupid, Craig.” Jimmy supplemented, nudging the taller man with his boney elbow. Craig’s face remained impassive, mouth set in a taut line and eyes unreadable.

Craig leaned his elbows onto the table, closer to Clyde and Token as their laughter died down, offer directed at anyone listening to the way his voice betrayed the desperation brewing in his gut. “I will literally give $20 to you if you come home with me.” 

Oh, and then— the heartless laughter resumed, though with less intensity this time. Again, Clyde was the first one to speak.

“Dude, you know I can’t. I’m going to Iceland.” His hand reached behind him to rub at his shoulder, his words slowing to stay in time with his thoughts. “Besides, it would have to be more than a Jackson. This is a whole month of pretending to date  _ you _ , dude.”

Token hummed his agreement, turning to Clyde. “For sure. $20 at  _ least.  _ Plus maybe you do their laundry.”

“Oh y-yeah, or be their dr-driv— their driver for all next semester,” Jimmy added with an encouraging nod. Clyde’s face lit up at that, and Craig felt the pit in his stomach become heavier with each word. 

“Oooh, oooh!” Even Butters was getting in on it, and Craig’s internal groan quickly became audible. “Or pay for all their meals!”

“Or their bar tab!”

“Yeah, or—”

Craig’s groan turned into a growl and then he finally snapped, ending their enthusiastic conversation: “Okay. Okay. If none of you are volunteering, you’re not allowed to up the ante.”

The whole table fell silent at that, Clyde and Token going back to staring unconvincingly at their notes. Jimmy just gave Craig a sympathetic grin— and Craig, of course, returned it with a less kind middle finger. Butters nervously tapped at the table, interrupting his own tic with a stammered offer.

“Gee, Craig, I really want to help you out.” Craig had to hand it to Butters— the guy was genuinely nice, even if his ideas were never that great. He was already mentally preparing an interruption as Butters continued. “I just can’t do that to my folks. But Kenny, I bet, would—”

“Nope.” And like clockwork, that practiced interruption proved necessary, useful once again. “I’m not that desperate.” 

In the distance, the group could hear the campus clock tower chiming— and a glance at his watch confirmed the time, 2:45. Fuck, he had to finish this essay before his 5PM. As if he didn’t have enough on his fucking plate. Craig re-opened his laptop, muttering a “son of a bitch” that was interrupted by Tweek’s scratchy voice.

“Craig.” He’d stood up, wild hair like a halo under fluorescent lights. His binders were gathered haphazardly in his arms, and his unzipped backpack hung loosely off his shoulders. His blue eyes refused to meet Craig’s as he hesitated. “Make it thirty dollars and I— I’ll think about it.” 

And with that, Tweek was stalking off down the library hall, slamming that too-fucking-loud door behind him. Craig immediately jumped out of his seat, ignoring Clyde’s obnoxious cooing and Butter’s optimistic “gee, whiz!” Craig’s long legs took him to the stairwell in seconds, and his hand grabbed Tweek’s backpack without a second thought.

“Gah!” Tweek almost tripped down the flight of stairs, saved only by Craig’s arms grabbing him and pulling him back onto the landing.

“Sorry.” The black-haired man said sheepishly, hands going to tugging on the strings of his chullo once Tweek seemed stable and had stopped shaking. “I just— dude, are you serious?”

Tweek was unreadable, refusing to meet Craig’s eyes and instead focusing on his fingers pulling the plastic off the spine of one of his binders. His shoulders hunched towards his ears in a pastiche of a shrug. “Yeah.” 

“Tweekers.” Craig grabbed him by the shoulders now in an attempt to get the blond to look at him, to make sure he was being honest, and that he  _ wanted  _ to. He’d absolutely rather go home with no one than pity-pressure his best friend into this shitshow. “Are you legit?”

“I said yeah!” Tweek’s nodding became fervent now. 

He finally looked up at Craig, eyes wide and honest and like a puddle warmed by the sun. Craig relaxed but didn’t move his hands, instead rubbing mindless circles into Tweek’s shoulders with his thumbs.

“Won’t your parents care?” He asked, already half-knowing the answer.

“If they’d even notice.” The shorter man replied with a low laugh. The corner of Craig’s mouth quirked up at the dark joke. “Honestly, I’d love to go somewhere other than home.”

And suddenly, the knot forming in Craig’s stomach loosened just an inch and he felt like he could breathe normally again. A smile properly cracked his face, and Tweek matched it. “Dude, you’re— you’re a lifesaver.”

Tweek’s laugh grew broader, and echoed up the stairwell like bells. “I just want something to hold over your head, okay?” He teased, looking down and kicking Craig’s toes with his own scuffed up Converse.

“Very funny.” Craig’s voice fell back to deadpan but the smile took longer to subside. Reluctantly, he let go and took a step back from Tweek, stuffing his hands in his pockets. “I’ll text you my plans for leaving. And, uh, if you want more than thirty—”

“Craig,  _ seriously _ .” The frustration in Tweek’s voice was fond, and he closed the gap between them with a shuffle forward. His smile grew bashful and his voice dropped to almost a whisper. “It’ll be nice just to be with you for the holidays.” Craig’s green eyes widened at the statement and Tweek suddenly stammered, “And— and, um, not with my shitty parents.”

“For sure.” Was all Craig could think to say, the knot in his stomach snapping taut again. 

“I–I gotta get to class,” Tweek excused himself with a small smile, and his shoes tapped lightly as he headed down the stairs again. 

“See you later, alligator,” the tall man called to him. Tweek responded with a giggle and an “After a while, crocodile.”

And a grinning Craig watched him until he disappeared out a door, floors below. Once Tweek was out of sight, it was his turn to twist around and sprint himself back up to the seventh floor.

_ If they left and all my shit is still sitting there _ , Craig thinks as he took the stairs two at a time,  _ I’m gonna fucking kill Clyde.  _

Luckily for him, Clyde’s life was to be spared: all of Craig’s study materials were still there, laptop left gaping open and papers strewn over his half of the table, but Token and Clyde were hunched over their own papers again, the latter whispering aloud to himself as he studied. His concentration was broken by the squeak of Craig’s chair and his heavy plop back into it.

“Where’s Jimmy? Butters?” Craig mumbled, turning his computer back on with a forceful slap of the keys.

“Class.” Clyde replied, as a smirk grew wide on his face. His elbow met Token’s ribs as his brows lifted suggestively. “Those were some smooth moves, Fucker.”

Craig barely spared him a glance as he muttered: “Shut up.”

“I’m just saying!” Clyde started to laugh now, infectious only to Token. His hands waved wildly as he spoke. “Your mom’s off your back, your sister believes you, and now you get to spend a whole-ass month with the love of your—”

“I said. Shut. Up.” Craig hissed, eyes shifting from side to side as if Tweek himself was going to pop out from behind the bookshelves. A fingernail caught on a loose thread of his hat, and his nervous tugging turned more aggressive. 

“He’s just teasing, dude,” Token cut in soothingly, hands raised as though Craig were a wild animal about to strike. Belatedly Craig realized his snarling expression wasn’t helping, and he ducked his head down. 

“I know.” He huffed out. His fingers started mashing away at the keyboard, mindlessly typing some bullshit about some French film he had to see last week. Clyde had talked through the whole thing but Craig was pretty sure his whole essay couldn’t be complaining about that. “It’s just— whatever.”

“Yeah, it’s whatever.” Clyde conceded, reaching over to affectionately pat Craig’s hand and pulling back as soon as the latter’s glare burnt his skin. “And it’s better than Kenny going.”

“That’s true.” Craig’s low words turned into a chuckle at the thought, and he shared a wry smile with his friends as he thoughtlessly threw some words about “color theory” and “symbolism” onto the page.

“I think you and Tweek will have a great time.” Token said with a genuine grin before turning back to his textbook.

Craig stopped typing as visions of them doing just that hit him like a brick. He and Tweek, stuffing themselves at the dinner table, driving around town to look at suburbia’s Christmas decor, sitting too-close as they opened presents under a dimly-lit Christmas tree—

Shaking his head, Craig suddenly realized the knot in his stomach was more like a seed, and there was a sprout of optimism growing out of it. If he wasn’t careful, it would climb up his throat. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So that’s what he was doing: lying in bed without pants, watching Red Racer on loop, and trying to ignore the thought that’s been nagging in the back of his head since last week.
> 
>  
> 
> _You’re bringing Tweek home for Christmas. The Tweek. Tweek fucking Tweak. Home. Christmas. And you’re pretending he’s your boyfriend. Tweek. Tweek, your boyfriend. Your boyfriend, Tweek._
> 
>  
> 
> _And you’re a fucking idiot._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i know this fic has craig taking tweek home for christmas but expect it to be finished by easter at best bc im trash. 
> 
> with that said THANK YOU FOR ALL THE COMMENTS you all have no idea how much you’ve kept me alive. i screenshot every single one and save them in a folder, no joke. legit ive never had such a positive response to a fic and im just. i hope im doing you all justice !!!! 
> 
> and of course, i hope everyone is having a happy holiday season!!!

The rest of the week passed without any incident, as long as you don’t count being friends with Clyde an incident in and of itself.

Dead week left Craig and those guys as the name implied: lying on the floor, crushed by the heavy weight of backpacks, possibly not breathing. But, as they say, C’s get degrees, so Craig felt pretty confident about his chances with his finals.

He was certain Tweek would fare a lot better. Whenever they would meet up to study, Tweek actually _would_ study, rather than just complain about needing to study. Craig always thought it was a damn shame he had as bad test anxiety as he did— he’d be a veritable genius if he didn’t panic.

Not that he blamed him for panicking— and if Craig reaches into the darkest, most selfish parts of his mind, he finds that he’s glad he does. He’s pretty sure Tweek wouldn’t want anything to do with his loser ass if his grades better reflected his intellect.

They met up almost every day that week, usually in Tweek’s favorite coffee spot. He would take over a whole corner in the back, right near where the espresso machines whirred and the smell of peppermint was imbued in ever air particle.

The baristas would even shoo people out when they saw Tweek, with Craig in tow, come in the building. It would be sweet if it didn’t also mean that the blond would probably die of a coffee-induced heart attack by 28.

By the end of the week, it felt like Tweek and Craig had interacted with only each other and their professors. Sleep was left by the wayside as projects were completed, papers were turned in without spell-check, and multiple-choice finals were completely, and absolutely, bombed.

Blessedly, Craig was done early— he had one sit-down final, Wednesday, but all of his projects were due the Friday before. It was a total bitch to get done but at least that meant he could sleep his life away until physics wrung his ass out to dry.

So that’s what he was doing: lying in bed without pants, watching Red Racer on loop, and trying to ignore the thought that’s been nagging in the back of his head since last week.

 _You’re bringing Tweek home for Christmas. The Tweek. Tweek fucking Tweak. Home. Christmas. And you’re pretending he’s your_ **_boyfriend_ ** _. Tweek. Tweek, your boyfriend. Your boyfriend, Tweek._

_And you’re a fucking idiot._

The voice was passing a lot of judgement that Craig didn’t feel was really deserved. Okay, yes, it was fucking stupid to lie to his family like this. And yes, it was doubly fucking stupid to bring someone along to keep the lie up.

And what was monumentally stupid— so stupid, that Craig didn’t feel the word “fuck” did it any justice— was asking the guy he had a motherfucking three-year-long _crush_ on to be the the faux-beau.

Okay, thinking about it, all judgement was deserved. This was so bad. This was so, so bad. Craig buried his face in his pillow, dulling the dramatic sounds of anime and enhancing his own low groan.

This was soooo bad.

The ding of his phone pulled him out of his pillow and as soon as Craig breathed fresh air again he realized he _really_ needed to wash his sheets. He scrambled around for his phone, lost in the sea of blankets and Milky Way Mini wrappers, dinging and dinging and dinging.

 _That’s gotta be Clyde_ , Craig thought with a fond chagrin, and as soon as he found his glowing phone he was proven correct.

**From: Clyde Donovan**

_(10:58 AM) dude_

_(10:58 AM) DUDE_

_(10:59 AM) HOUSE EMERGENCY DUDE_

_(11:01 AM) are we out of oreos_

(11:05 AM) yes

_(11:06 AM) FUCK_

_(11:06 AM) WHATS THE FUCKING POINT ANYMORE_

(11:09 AM) sorry

(11:10 AM) it’s fine im just Crying

(11:12 AM) yeah. i can hear.

_(11:14 AM) what EVER_

_(11:14 AM) when are you leaving bro?_

(11:19 AM) uhhhh wednesday i think

(11:20 AM) i need to talk to tweek

_(11:22 AM) ;))))))_

_(11:22 AM) you exciiiiiiiiited_

(11:25 AM) if i could hit you without getting out of bed, i would

_(11:26 AM) i’ll take that as a resounding YES_

(11:28 AM) please stop

_(11:34 AM) it’s okay to be excited you know_

_(11:34 AM) like, even if it’s just because you get to spend a month w/ your best friend_

(11:43 AM) you’re my best friend

_(11:44 AM) awwww craigory :”)_

(11:48 AM) don’t make it gay

_(11:49 AM) that’s rich coming from the world’s most useless homosexual_

(11:53 AM) i’m bi and you know it

_(11:58 AM) you’re tweeksexual at best_

_(11:59 AM) i’ve never seen you look at anyone else the way u do at him_

(12:08 PM) this conversation is over

_(12:09 PM) :-)_

_(12:11 PM) i’m serious about what i said tho dude. it’s ok to be excited._

(12:15 PM) i am excited

_(12:16 PM) :D_

(12:17 PM) about getting away from you

_(12:19 PM) D:_

It took everything in Craig’s power not to bury himself back in bed. Clyde’s teasing aside, it brought back into the forefront something he’d been trying to ignore: he really, really needed to text Tweek.

It’s Sunday— at least, he thinks it’s Sunday— and he needs to let Tweek know the plans for the week give him time to pack. Craig might be comfortable with throwing dirty clothes into an old hockey duffle the day of, but Tweek probably isn’t.

And, if he’s being totally honest, Craig isn’t comfortable with it so much as he’s too lazy to do anything else.

His knuckles are white for how tight he’s grasping his cell phone, thumb hovering over his last conversation with Tweek— something about grabbing ramen to eat that night to celebrate the end of classes, except instead of actually going they both just fell asleep on Tweek’s couch watching Say Yes to the Dress instead.

Okay. Craig takes a deep breath. He’s just texting Tweek. Tweek is his best friend, no matter what he tells Clyde, and they text all the time. Texting is casual. It’s casual. He’s casual. He’s a casual dude. It’s fine.

**To: Tweek Tweak**

(12:50 PM) so my last final is on wednesday, you think you’re good to go then?

_(12:52 PM) Yeah!! I’m done Tuesday I think_

_(12:53 PM) No wait_

_(12:53 PM) Monday_

_(12:54 PM) Yeah_

(12:55 PM) shit im sorry we can’t leave earlier then

_(12: 57 PM) It’s no problem!!_

_(12: 58 PM) How far o you live?_

_(12:58 PM) *do_

(12:58 PM) im from outside denver so bout an hour and a half from here

_(1:03 PM) Cool!!_

_(1:03 PM) Should I bring anythig??? Sleeping bag, pillows??_

_(1:03 PM) OHJESUS Do I need to bring presents???_

(1:04 PM) no dude lol. you’re totally good

(1:05 PM) just clothes and stuff

_(1:08 PM) Okay!!_

_(1:08 PM) I’m excited!!_

Tweek was so impressive when he texted— like, literally expressive. If he wasn’t speaking aloud while typing, he was giggling to himself about what he was typing, or on more rare occasions mumbling about the pressure of whatever he was typing.

So Craig is hit with the idea of Tweek, whispering to himself that he was excited— oh, and of course Craig’s homosexual mind had to make this image radiating Tweek’s sunshine smile that warmed him from his core.

For a moment, he regrets every decision he’s ever made to bring him to this point. He can hardly text Tweek without his chest binding up. How in the fucking hell is he supposed to bring him home?

And yet— he can’t help but feel thrill, too. Thrill tinged with hope. Craig is a shitty liar, especially to himself, and he can’t pretend that he doesn’t hope that maybe this is what reveals that Tweek feels the same way— that he falls asleep imagining the other man in his arms too, or when their hands brush together as they walk, he can’t breathe either.

Tweek would be a fucking idiot to like Craig back. Selfishly, Craig wished he was that fucking stupid.

It’s a second before Craig realizes he left Tweek hanging— he hates being the last message in a conversation, since it makes him feel like the other person is mad at them. The least Craig can do is always text Tweek back as quickly as possible.

As it is now, he’d bring the moon down for Tweek, if he asked him.

So Craig shoots back an honest, desperate, “me too,” before staring with desolate eyes at his wasteland of a bedroom. He resolves to pack later and falls back into the comfort of his overfilled bed. It’s only minutes before Craig falls immediately into a deep sleep— where under a moonless sky, Craig drives the Mach Five with Tweek in his arms.  

The three days between Sunday and Wednesday felt like they didn’t exist— and for how much Craig slept through them, they kind of didn’t. He had Tweek had only seen each other once that week, when Clyde forced them out to Two Dollar Tuesday. It was a hell of a night, and made Craig’s final the next morning absolute hell.

But they were _done._ Finished. He never has to think about planets or math or fucking physics again. At least, not until mid-January.

So even with his receding hangover, and the pain of a definitely-flunked test hanging over his head, Craig found himself pulling into the parking lot of Tweek’s apartment complex with a smile growing on his face.

Tweek bounds out of the door of his building as soon as Craig’s ivy car pulled into a spot. He hoped he hadn’t made him wait long— but knowing Tweek, he probably was afraid of being late himself.

Apparently, he’s also afraid of leaving anything in his apartment behind, based on how many fucking bags he has slung over his shoulders.  

Turning the car off, Craig hopped out of the driver’s seat and offered a quick hug to his overburdened friend. “What’s up, buttercup?”

“Nothing n-new, honeydew.” Tweek replied, teeth pressing into his bottom lip as he grinned. Craig popped the trunk carefully, being certain not to jostle the duct tape keeping the left taillight in place. Tweek tosses his bags with more force than necessary, one landing in the second row of seats rather than the truck, and Craig tried to hide his laughter.

Based on the push he got in return, it didn’t work. The two men hop their way into the car— even at their heights, Craig’s Mountaineer sat tall. Tweek’s long legs got him in faster, already chastising Craig for not having his seatbelt on.

“The car isn’t even on yet.” Craig replied with a roll of his eyes and the click of his belt buckle. As the car purred to live, Craig snuck a look out of the corner of his eyes, feeling Tweek shake the whole car as he tried to get comfortable.

Craig is taller but just by a few inches. It’s a point of contention between the two, since Craig takes a lot of pride being over six foot— even if just _barely_ — and Tweek is very frustrated that he cannot break that ceiling.

But it also means that no matter what kind of car you drive, getting _in_ the car meant you were not going to be all that comfortable for the next hour forty-five.

While Craig felt the car too small for his broad shoulders, Tweek had trouble fitting his spindly legs in front of him. It was like his legs were about four feet long, and then the rest of him makes up the last foot and handful of inches. Tweek despised how pants never fit him right, how he always had to roll up his cuffs to make them look decent.

Craig just thought he looked really fucking cute in cuffed pants.

Without any fanfare— just a holler “goodbye!” out the window from Tweek’s roommate, Butters— Craig and Tweek hit the road. The ride isn’t long at all, and quite nice in silence. But it’s just long enough for awkwardness to start to seep in through the drafty windows and not-ever-quite-closed doors.

Even the music Craig had thrown on— a Christmas playlist of his own making— wasn’t enough to crack the bruléed silence. It itched within their lungs, the need to say something. Craig broke before Tweek did and his voice was loud in the car.

“Okay.” Craig slapped his palms against the worn leather of his steering wheel, shocking Tweek out of the forest of his thoughts. Craig stared ahead at the empty road, only daring to peek at his carmate out of the corner of his eye. “To prevent maximum awkwardness, we should probably set boundaries.”

“B-Boundaries?” Tweek looked at him with wide eyes. This was a confusion Craig was unfamiliar with— so unlike the concentration he’d sport when poring over K201 review packets, or the nervous doubt that plagued him all too often. This confusion had trust implicit, like Tweek was just waiting for an answer he knew Craig had.

Craig rarely disappointed, and this time was no exception, even with how sticky the words felt in his mouth. “Yeah, since we’re supposed to be, like… A couple. So, like, if I hold your hand… Are you comfortable with that?”

“Agh!” As understanding dawned on Tweek’s face, so too did discomfort. This conversation felt like stepping in water while wearing socks, even if neither of them could quite pin why. “Yeah, whatever, dude!”

Craig exhaled, satisfied. “Okay. Yeah. Cool.”

The silence was stifling and thick, like one of his mom’s expensive lotions that made his hands slippery for the next four and a half days. Craig couldn’t get a grasp on his thoughts as they fell through his palms.

“W-What about, um.” Tweek broke the silence with forceful words, as if it took all his energy to break it. He had hidden his face in his hands, but red-flushed skin was still obvious through his fingers. “Kissing.”

Craig almost veered off the road. “What?”

“Kissing! Y-Y’know, like couples do!”

“Um.” Craig thought for a second. His brain seemed to be driving in the slow lane, though he was pushing 80. “I mean, I’m not really into PDA so, uh. We won’t have to.”

Tweek’s brows raised, hiding under his bedhead. “Oh, you’re not?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” And Craig’s face did the opposite— though his smile remained, his brow furrowed as he tried to understand the implications of his friend’s teasing.

Tweek giggled, lifting his hands to hide his smile behind. It took all of Craig’s strength not to lean over and pull them away. “I don’t know.”

“Whatever. It doesn’t matter what I’d really do, because this isn’t real, so. We won’t have to.” Craig rolled his eyes, swallowed. It seemed his brain only had the capacity for one thing at a time right now, being totally enraptured by Tweek otherwise. So with his mind on hiatus, Craig’s mouth decided to tack on: “If it makes you uncomfortable.”

Tweek exhaled sharply at that and Craig tried not to wince. The blond continued on anyway, ticking each word off on his fingers. “So holding hands, hugging. T-that’s all okay?”

“Yeah, that’s okay.” Craig said with a nod that looked more certain than he felt.

Tweek’s eyes narrowed conspiratorially, and his smile grew to the point of blinding. He could barely get the next words out for laughing: “What about pet names?”

“Maybe. If you’re good.” Slipped out of Craig’s mouth in a borderline-inappropriate tone. Heat suddenly pooled in his cheeks when his mind finally caught up to what he said. Jesus fuck— forget a cabin air filter. He needs his fucking brain filter replaced and asap.

Blessedly, Tweek was still laughing, even as a flush colored under his freckles. “Agh, Craig, don’t make it weird!”

“It’s already weird.” The dark-haired man pointed out with thin lips.

“Yeah.” Tweek had calmed, teeth no longer smiling but nibbling nervously at his bottom lip again. His little statement was still so content. “B-But it still should be fun.”

Craig raised a brow. “You haven’t met my family yet.”

“They should be better than mine, at least.” Tweek replied with a roll of his eyes.

“What do you guys usually do for Christmas?” The driver asked, speeding around some dumbshit in a minivan who decided that the left lane was _absolutely_ the best place to caravan at 50 mph. Tweek hummed.

“Nothing, really.” He had started rubbing his middle fingernail again— a habit he picked up while he was trying to stop picking his cuticles. Still a nervous tic but at least it didn’t make him bleed. “Dinner, and then we visit Dad usually. Open presents. That’s about it.”

“Where’s your dad?” Craig asked thoughtlessly.

“Jail.” Tweek responded with as much consideration.

“Oh, shit, dude.” Craig looked over at his blond friend suddenly. His bony knees, shrouded in ripped jeans, were pressed into the glovebox and he just stared out the window at the low sun and rolling plains. “How did I not know that?”

Tweek shrugged. His voice was casual, calm. “I don’t talk about it.”

The silence was awkward again as Craig mumbled a lame response. Why wouldn’t Tweek have told him this before? He at least had comfort in knowing he was bringing his best friend home as a fake date— what if Tweek was just doing this out of pity? What if Tweek didn’t think they were as close as Craig thought?

Fuck, that’s like, thirty times more awkward than it already was. Silence was suffocating. Desperate, scrambling, Craig asked probably the worst thing he could: “What happened?”  

But Tweek? Tweek _chuckled_ , and answered as if Craig’s questions had been asked aloud. “It’s n-not a big deal, really, this all happened when I was a kid. He… He was a douche anyway. He owned a coffeeshop, m-marketed about our ‘addictive’ product. It really was, because as it turns out, he was lacing it with meth.”

“Holy shit, dude! Did you drink any?” And when Tweek nodded, Craig started to laugh incredulously. “And you _still_ drink coffee?”

Tweek rolled his eyes, laugh muffled when he ducked his head. “Addiction is a real problem, Craig.”

And just like that, Craig’s mind was quieted and the quiet that surrounded it was comfortable again. He had to stop worrying so much. That was Tweek’s job.

The blond cut in to his mental lambasting, asking: “So… who will be there for your— uh, our Christmas?”

“Umm. My mom, dad, my sister Tricia. My grandma. And then usually we have my Aunt Jodie come stay with her kids.” Craig listed off by rote, memory faltering near the end. His tongue stuck out between his teeth as he thought. “And my Uncle Skeeter lives in town, so we get with them for dinner too.”

“Big family.” Tweek noted.

Craig shrugged. “I guess.”

“Bigger than mine, at least.” The blond shot back.

“I’m glad you’re coming.” Craig continued, not leaving even a moment of silence. He glanced nervously over at his friend. “I hope it’ll be, like, a better Christmas. Than normal, at least.”

Tweek’s smile was so sweet, so genuine, that Craig felt his heart flip and he almost wanted to do the same to the car. “I know it will be.”

Silence again, comfortable this time. Craig turns up the music.

Suddenly, Tweek was groaning, his hands going to the side of his head and running through his cornsilk hair. “Oh, god.”

“What?” Confused, Craig looked over at his friend.

“You just have.” Tweek swallowed, each word more forceful than the last. “The worst music taste.”

Craig scoffed as if Tweek had chosen to insult him personally. Really, he might have been even more offended now: “Dude, it’s Band-Aid. What the fuck is your problem?”

“My pro-problem is they used a third grader to write the lyrics.” Tweek hit back with a dramatic roll of his eyes. For a second Craig even thought they might get stuck that way, and a laugh forced out of him.

Still, he persisted: “I’m not going to argue with you about why this song is amazing, because any song that has Duran Duran and synths and Phil Fucking Collins in it is fucking amazing, and you know it.”

“You have no taste.” Tweek crossed his arms, hunching further in his seat.

“You listen to fucking a capella Christmas music so it’s not like you’re one to talk.”

Now it was Tweek’s turn to squeak indignantly. “Pentatonix is really talented!”

“So is Duran Duran!” Each word was punctuated by Craig’s hands hitting against the steering wheel again, one slipping a little too close to the horn.

Tweek levelled him with a dry stare, pulling Craig’s attention away from the stretch of blue sky and into Tweek’s deeper eyes. He huffed. “This song blows more dick than I do, Craig.”

“Fine.” Craig tried not to laugh, _tried_ so hard to keep his angry face, but Tweek’s little pout and his stupid little jokes made it so hard. “Fine. I’ll put Wham! on loop and we’ll be happy.”

Tweek groans. “That solves nothing.”

“Look, I got a sick 80’s Christmas playlist—”

“Why do we even have to listen to Christmas music?” Tweek interrupted, groan turning into intense despair. Miserly misery coated every word.

“We’re getting in the Christmas spirit, okay.” Craig sighed heavily. Years and years of being surrounded by his family’s incessant holiday music had given him what amounts to a Stockholmy relationship. “Get used to it. My mom won’t have anything else on until January 8th.”

With the tap of his thumb, the Waitresses were singing through the speakers about falling in love over canned cranberries, or whatever. The first words offended Tweek to the point that he snatched the aux cord, tugging it out of Craig’s phone and fumbling with plugging it into his own.

“Hey!” Craig cried out, looking over as he reached for the cord again. His right hand landed against Tweek’s chest as he searched for purchase on the red cord.

“No, no. I’m taking this now.” One hand was attempting to get the aux cord in, while the other fended off Craig’s long arms. When the car swerved a _little_ too wildly, Tweek screeched out, “Eyes on the road, Tucker!”

At that, Craig relented with a pout. Protestations fell out of his mouth as soon as “You Can Call Me Al” started playing. “Christmas, Tweek. Christmas.”

“Come on.” Tweek wasn’t even groaning anymore. His voice was dry enough to give Craig and the Sahara a run for their money.

“Tweek.” And now Craig was starting to laugh, shaking his head finding. “Come on. We’re getting in the spirit.”

Tweek acquiesce with a roll of his eyes, but he’s holding in a giggle that’s so big it literally is shaking his body. His brow furrowed as he searched with a renewed vigor, and finally Springsteen was seeping through the radio. Craig nodded, head tilting the way it did only when he was perfectly content.

“Happy?” Tweek checked in, just to be sure.

“It’s a good compromise, yeah.” Craig lets the music play for a second before he’s asking Tweek with a low voice that really sounds more like begging: “Can we still listen to Wham! later?”

Tweek laughs. “Yes, Craig, we can still listen to Wham! later.”

But by the time “Last Christmas” came on shuffle, Tweek was softly snoring in the seat beside him. Cars always put Tweek to sleep. He said it was something about how they rocked him, and the sound of the road. Fat snowflakes started to fall, melting as soon as they kissed Craig’s windshield. Now this— this silence was perfect.

Even though, it wasn’t really silent, since Tweek was breathing heavily and music was playing, and Craig’s inner monologue seemed incessant and needlessly wordy. Still, the moment was like heaven for Craig. He resisted the urge to reach over and brush his fingers through Tweek’s hair, and tried his damndest to just focus on the road.

Muscle memory brought Craig to the turn lane to get into his neighborhood. He realized Tweek would probably want a minute to wake up— and he was leaving him just barely that. Reluctantly, Craig started poking Tweek in the arm, right where he knew it would annoy him the most.

“Tweekers, come on.” He said lowly, musically. “We’re like two minutes away.”

Tweek groaned, shifting a little bit. His blue eyes fluttered and then screwed shut. “Ugh. That’s two more minutes I could sleep.”

“It’s snowing. Don’tcha wanna see?” Craig ran his tongue over his teeth, stopping on those stubborn crooked ones on the bottom. He never really needed braces, still doesn’t, no matter how annoying or embarrassing he thought those were.  

Tweek’s hot breath fogged up the window he leaned on as he spoke. “We’ve both lived our whole lives in Colorado, Craig. I’ve seen snow.”

“Well, wake up. I’m legit pulling up now.” Craig slowly turned down another winding street. Trees, their branches heavy with snow, greeted him as he drove past familiar house after familiar house.

Suddenly, Tweek was sitting up. The concept of pulling into Craig’s family’s driveway asleep was his kryptonite— one of many, at least. In his voice, Craig could hear trembling. “Agh, okay! Okay.”

Craig looked over at Tweek, who’s nerves seemed to have come back at full force. He was rubbing his middle fingernail, and his leg was bouncing nervously. The tension was contagious, and Craig hoped that his own apprehension was apparent on his face.

And though he was well-versed in the Art of Impassivity, Craig still gave a generous grin to Tweek, and rubbed his shoulder. With one hand, he swung the car into a shoveled driveway, house towering over them. One light was on upstairs. It was a Cyclops ready to feast.

“Well, _babe_.” Craig finally spoke, the teasing in his voice barely masking the panic. “We’re home.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i love being vague about where they go to school and where they live bc i know zero (0) things about colorado
> 
> also if you dont like band-aid's "do they know it's christmas" come fucking fight me behind denny's at 4am i've got the power of god and anime on my side


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Is that how you two got together?” His dad asked, and Craig wished he was chewing at that point because choking on air was a hell of a lot more conspicuous. He nodded, scrunching his nose and screwing on his trademarked dry glare.
> 
> “Uh, yeah. I guess.” He muttered, a flush crawling up his face. _Fuck._ How did they plan for everything but the story of how they met? That’s question number one and Craig absolutely fucking forgot. He tried to emit his normal aura of nonchalance, but he was pretty sure it looked more like gastrointestinal discomfort.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> happy new year everyone! i hope you all have a safe celebration and enjoy the start of 2018 before it inevitably sucks as bad as last year
> 
> also before we start i just wanna give major props to all other creek authors, esp those who publish on a daily/every other day basis. y’all keep me going w/ your talent and continue to be great inspirations that i, too, someday could have a consistent schedule. stranger things have happened.
> 
> so. lets get gay fam.

 

With his bag on one shoulder, and one of Tweek’s on the other, Craig slowly shuffled up his snow-covered driveway. The front door was adorned with a wreath of impressive size. Unlocked, it offered no resistance to Craig pushing it open and clomping in.

He heard Tweek follow, wiping his shoes against the foyer's Oriental carpet. Craig dropped his bags, and got one glance back at a wild-haired Tweek before his mom was bustling around the corner. Her eyes were crinkled with delight.

“You’re home!” She cried out, wiping her hands on a towel tied into the band of her apron. She practically ran forward and pulled her son into a hug.

Craig answered with tight arms wrapping around his mom. She rubbed his back in little circles, the same way she always had. She still smelled the same— like sage and perfume— looked the same, acted the same. As much as Craig changed, she stayed the same. It was welcoming in ways that nothing else really could ever be.

“Hi Mom.” He murmured back, and a little smile played on Tweek’s face. There’s that fondness Craig hardly shows. It’s lustrous. 

Craig’s mom relaxed from the embrace and took a step back, eying Craig up and down the same way she used to when he was the Grade School Problem Child— checking for cuts, lacerations, bruises, abrasions, or visible demerit cards. Still, her voice was a hug in and of itself, even when asking dull questions: “How was the drive, sweetheart?”  

“Not bad. Better with company.” Craig answered honestly before remembering the company was standing behind him. Tweek’s eyes were peering over Craig’s shoulder. He was the perfect height for having a clear view while hiding. “When’s Trish coming home?”

“Oh, not until tomorrow.” She replied dismissively. She was staring Tweek over Craig’s shoulder, the weight of his bags curving his spine. Craig’s mom’s smile was expectant and her eyes were alight. “And who is this?” 

“Mom, this is my boyfriend, Tweek.” Craig was impressively stoic, words falling fluidly out of his mouth. He could feel his ears turning red, though, and the blush crawling over the rest of his face. 

Habit had him looking for the strings of his chullo to tug on— but he had packed it, so he settled for running a nervous hand through his hair. Tweek stepped around him, dropping his own bags on top of Craig’s. 

“Nice to meet you, Tweek! I’m Laura.” And though the blond was a head taller than Craig’s mom, she still pulled him easily into a tight hug. Tweek did his best not to squeak. It only halfway worked. At least his hands weren’t shaking yet. After a moment, Mrs. Tucker pulled away, her smile still bright. She called behind her: “Thomas! Craig is home! With his boyfriend!”

With that cue, giant of a man lumbered in with a pleasant smile on his face, making a beeline to Craig and pulling him into a hug. 

“Hey, bud.” Thomas Tucker mumbled into his son’s hair, ruffling it as he pulled away. Craig grimaced, trying to pat down the cowlicks that were reawakened by his father’s actions. He  _ knew _ he should have worn a hat today.

Craig’s dad was extending a hand to Tweek, now, not even bothering to introduce himself but cracking what he liked to refer to as jokes. “So, you’re the one putting up with Craig, huh? How generous of you.”

“It’s more generous of him, really.” Tweek said with a laugh that actually seemed genuine. He nervously reached out to take Mr. Tucker’s hand, trying not to yelp when the redhead shook it with vigor. 

Craig turned back to his mom, stepping closer to Tweek resisting the urge to wrap his arm around his waist. Unless— couples do that, right? So should he? His arm now hovered awkwardly around Tweek’s side. Fuck, it’s been too long. He has to commit to the position, uncomfortable for his muscles and also for everyone else standing there.

“So, where’s Tweek staying?” Thank god for the nasal qualities of his voice. It always made him sound like he didn’t give a fuck. Usually that was the truth— but when it wasn’t, lies were a breeze. “I’ll show him to his room.”

“Oh, sweetheart. We weren’t about to banish him to the basement.” His mom replied with a little laugh, her hands coming together. “I figured you’d just stay together in yours!”

Craig’s eyes widened, and Tweek hid his nervous “gah!” in an unconvincing cough. The dark haired man looked up at his dad, who was just nodding encouragingly. “Wait, wait. Really?”

“I was in college once too, you know.” Mrs. Tucker replied with a teasing eye roll. Craig groaned, half in disgust and half in despair, and just hoisted his bag back over his shoulder. Tweek followed suit, and then followed him as Craig stomped up the stairs. When Mrs. Tucker started laughing again, Craig flipped her off for good measure.

“Dinner won’t be ready for a while, so take your time!” She called up after them, and then Craig could hear her mutter something to his dad about how happy she was that Craig looked so happy. As annoyed as he was about the new sleeping situation, he couldn’t help but feel a  _ little  _ love for his mother.

She meant well, really. It’s not her fault that he and Tweek don’t sleep together like  _ that _ . It’s one thing to share Tweek’s queen after long nights of studying. It’s totally another for your mother to expect you to fuck. 

Craig led a silent Tweek down the hall, past his parent’s room, Tricia’s locked-up bedroom, and the bathroom before stopping at the final closed door. There was an old “Do Not enter” road sign that he stole in his senior year of high school. The metal had scratched up the door pretty bad, but it looked badass otherwise. 

He took a steadying breath, and then they entered. His bedroom was like a museum of pre-college Craig. To be fair, though, it’s not like he’s changed that much.

There’s an empty cage commemorating his guinea pigs (may Stripe, Stripe #2, Stripe #3, Stripe #4, and Kobe Bryant all rest in peace) and posters plastered all over the walls. Most were city maps with their subway lines like rainbow veins, but there were several bearing band names, and plenty also detailing planets and stars. 

The room was weirdly clean, too. His mom must have dusted and put away the pile of laundry he left after his Thanksgiving visit. The bed in the corner looked freshly made. It was a full twin, purchased when Craig had his big growth spurt and had to start sleeping diagonally in order to keep his feet on the bed. 

Its comforter, plush and blue, looked inviting. But Craig resisted the call. He dropped his bag with a dramatic thud, and turned around at Tweek, whose wide blue eyes were reading the walls like scripture.  

“So, um.” Craig started, hands hanging limply at his sides. His socked feet dug into the worn carpet below them. “Fuck. I really thought they’d give you your own bed. But you can have mine, I’ll sleep on the floor—”

“No way, dude!” Tweek’s lemon voice cut Craig off as he shook his head emphatically. His hands were in front of him, palms out. “I’m the guest, I should sleep on the fl—”

And now Craig stepped over Tweek’s words and moved forward, foot catching on the carpet his mom had put back in his bedroom. It dark blue rug, decorated with a giant baseball and basketball and football— one of Craig’s favorites from childhood. He frowned: “No, you’re the  _ guest _ . That’s why you should have the bed.” 

Tweek had started saying something to counter him but Craig couldn’t hear under his own perfectly logical arguments— his mom had always said that guests get the bed, no matter how worn the mattress is or how much more comfortable the floor actually might be.

Their voices grew louder, Craig arguing in defense of hospitality and Tweek yelling something now about Craig screwing up his back via floor-sleep and never being able to walk again. The creak of the door and a knock on wood shocked them, and both turned to see Craig’s mom’s smiling face behind a downy tower.

“Sorry boys!” She said, voice gentle. She set the pile down on the floor by Craig’s closet and laid another smaller piece of fabric atop it— washcloths. “Just wanted to give you some extra towels for Tweek. Let me know if you need anything else!”

She left as suddenly as she came, and Craig was now left with a Tweek so flushed he looked sunburned. His shoulders were curved in the way they only got when he felt purely  _ nervous _ — and Craig’s stomach filled with unease when he realized he was the reason.

“I mean.” Craig tried after a second of silence, gesturing to the bed with his head. A resigned smile played at the corner of his lips, even as his stomach flipped at the idea his own tongue proposed. “It’s big enough to share. If you don’t mind.”

Tweek didn’t seem to relax. He flinched as if the words had insulted him. Shyly, he ducked his head, and stammered out a reply with forced nonchalance. “T-That’s fine. I honestly just don’t— I don’t want to be a bother!”

“Dude. You’re not at  _ all _ . I’m sorry if I made you think so.” Craig said immediately, stepping forward. He tried to rid his voice of his usual monotone, tried to inject some of the genuine emotion he was feeling into his words. Per usual, it only halfway worked. 

When Tweek still refused to meet his gaze, the dark haired man couldn’t help but lift his chin with a gentle hand. Tweek’s shoulders seemed to relax now, thank god. He hated seeing him worried, especially over something as stupid as sleep space. Craig let his hand drop to Tweek’s shoulder as if to brush off nonexistent lint. Now it was he who was avoiding eye contact as he continued: “I’m really glad you’re here.”

Tweek’s smile grew too slowly for Craig to see it before the blond was pulling him into a hug. If Craig’s smiles were rain, Tweek’s were flowers, blooming as moonlight was warmed by the sun. 

The embrace was tight and familiar. Hugs weren’t uncommon between the two men. They’re best friends. And if Craig were honest, he’d realize they were almost always touching, even if it was just bony knees knocking together under the table at Panera.

But hugs lately have been a test of will for Craig Tucker. It took all the energy he could pull from his bones to resist running his hands along the length of Tweek’s spine; it felt impossible to stop himself from resting his cheek in Tweek’s soft hair, to inhale his familiar scent of Old Spice and coconut 2-in-1. Instinct, heavy as lead, told him to pull Tweek tighter. Reason let him go.  

“Boys!” Tweek’s head popped up as soon as Mrs. Tucker’s voice rang throughout the house, hitting Craig’s nose in the process. His panicked squeak was met just with Craig rubbing his nose, wry smile on his face. “Time for dinner!”

“Oh jesus! I’m sorry!” Tweek cried, pulling back and stepping away. Craig immediately missed the warmth, but just chuckled.

“It’s fine. No risk, no reward.” He replied dryly. He looked down awkwardly, only to be apprehended by a large coffee stain on the hem of his shirt. 

It was a miracle his mom hadn’t noticed yet, forcing him to strip in the living room— in front of Tweek, no less— so she could immediately wash the offending cloth. With a resigned sigh, Craig pulled open his closet door and started searching for a sweatshirt. 

Tweek, meanwhile, had unzipped his bag— one of them, anyway— and started looking for something. Clothes, haphazardly folded, were pooling around his ankles by the time he procured a stick of Old Spice. 

It’s only a second between Craig removing his shirt and slipping on his sweatshirt— an old red Champion one, from his dad. He barely caught Tweek’s eyes as he turned, his face pink and deodorant forgotten in his hands.  _ Shit _ . He should have left the room to change, and guilt pooled in his stomach at the idea of making Tweek more uncomfortable. 

For how much time they spent together, Craig and Tweek hardly were ever even half naked around each other. Tweek basically wore the same clothes every day anyway. And Craig was still too scarred by years of bacne to ever really feel comfortable changing in front of anyone, let alone Tweek.

But now, in close quarters, they had no choice but to change in front of the other— and a new emotion punched Craig in the face. Embarrassment over his own body was shadowed by the thought of Tweek in  _ any  _ state of undress. 

God damn it. He couldn’t even jerk off freely here. Whatever god was out there sure was having a good laugh at Craig’s expense. 

Tweek, his eyes glued to the ground, maneuvered under his shirt to throw on a little more Old Spice— which is just, honestly, the best scent in the world. Craig found it hard to avert his eyes from the strip of pale skin that appeared as Tweek’s shirt rode up. 

As soon as Tweek threw his stick into his clothes pile, Craig cleared his throat as though that would clear the awkward air between them. With confidence only skin deep, Craig led them out of his bedroom and down the stairs, avoiding his parents’ eyes as he headed into the kitchen.

“You good with beef?” He asked Tweek after taking stock of the kitchen island, laden with a veritable feast of home-cooked goodness. Craig couldn’t help a smile play at the corner of his mouth. It had been a long time since he ate something warm, or fresh, or involving vegetables in any way. 

Tweek was practically stuck to his hip, peering over his shoulder as Craig balanced two plates and piled them high with mashed potatoes, crockpot roast and several Pillsbury Crescents— two for him, three for Tweak, per request. Passing the burdened china to the man behind him, Craig followed the familiar path out of the kitchen and into the dining room. 

Each step felt heavy, chains around his ankles, like that one scene in that Les Mis movie that he went to see on some dumbshit date in high school. A date that, if he remembered correctly, Kenny crashed, and then stole his Milk Duds. Fuck Kenny, but also, fuck Milk Duds. 

Craig's thoughts were dislodged from their tangent only by Tweek bumping his shoulder. Fuck. Center himself back,  _ focus _ , remember what he was thinking about— right. Jail. He was walking into the interrogation room right now, parents sitting there with clinking forks and a laundry list of invasive questions. 

It was his responsibility to defend Tweek from any of their tactics. And also, like, not discover this was all a lie to shield Craig’s tender pride in the most unnecessarily complex way. 

So, as soon as Craig sat down, he started doing what he did best: shoveling food into his mouth as though this were the last meal of a starving man. The table was silent for a good five minutes, save for clinking forks and near-barbaric eating. 

“So.” Mrs. Tucker decided to start them off after a sip of wine. Her blond hair was tucked up in a neat ponytail, and even her apron was spotless. She almost looked sterile, but her smile was genuine. “How were your finals, boys?”

Craig shrugged, still staring down at his plate, quick deductions determining the next optimal bite of food. Tweek beside him seemed to feel bad leaving the question unanswered, though, so he answered hesitantly: “T-They were fine. Kind of— kind of tough.”

The dark haired man glanced up from his hunched position, trying to gauge his parents reaction to Tweek’s stutter. He had never been afraid to defend the blond from people willing to mock him for it, and Craig’s parents were no exception to the rule.

Even though Tweek honestly fought better than Craig. Craig was like an uncaged animal, all wild long limbs and complete disregard for his well-being. Tweek actually knew how to, like, throw a punch. It was kind of hot. 

“I hope Craig didn’t distract you from your studying.” His mom distracted him from his own thoughts, now, and Craig groaned as she teased. “I know he can be a bother if he’s bored.”

“Actually, Craig hel–helped me. A lot.” Tweek said before Craig could refute his mother. The blond was pushing the food around his plate with his fork, bites hardly apparent. Craig could tell he was hungry— but Tweek also hated eating in front of people. The reminder forced the taller man to swallow quickly and take the brunt of the attention.

Mr. Tucker hit him with another question before Craig could, though. He half-swallowed his potatoes and earned a teasing glare from his wife as he spoke through chewing: “Are you in astronomy also?”

“Tweek’s in the business school.” Craig shook his head, shoving the starch in his mouth as he spoke. He stopped chewing as soon as he looked up at his father, feeling both shame and familial pride pool in his belly. The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree, even when it’s adopted from Peru.

“Wow! Impressive!” Mrs. Tucker clapped her hands together, smiling eyes moving from Tweek to Craig and back again. Tweek flushed, focus on his butter knife sawing through his beef.

“M-my mom thought it was the best opportunity.” He replied with a shrug. Craig was never surprised, but always awed, by Tweek’s acting ability: three-and-a-half years worth of stress over a major he hates was obscured by that sentence. “But I’m n-no good at math. Craig helps, a l-lot.”

“Oh, that’s so sweet.” Mrs. Tucker cooed, and even Thomas was smiling proudly from his spot at the head of the table. Craig could feel a blush crawling up his own neck and shot a defensive glare at his mom. She responded with an even brighter smile.  

Craig looked down between them and realized Tweek’s leg had been bouncing the whole time, and his hand, locked to his knee with an iron grip, was trembling. 

Thoughtlessly, Craig reached between them to pry his hand away from his leg and rubbed his thumb soothingly on Tweek’s wrist. He hoped his parents wouldn’t notice, and silently thanked Cthulhu he was left-handed. 

Tweek definitely did notice, though. The shaking all but stopped. And his smile became more honest, if more bashful. Something like confidence coated Craig’s insides— and was completely stripped away when Thomas Tucker opened his mouth again.

“Is that how you two got together?” He asked, and Craig wished he was chewing at that point because choking on air was a hell of a lot more conspicuous. He nodded, scrunching his nose and screwing on his trademarked dry glare.

“Uh, yeah. I guess.” He muttered, a flush crawling up his face.  _ Fuck _ . How did they plan for everything  _ but  _ the story of how they met? That’s question number one and Craig absolutely fucking forgot. He tried to emit his normal aura of nonchalance, but he was pretty sure it looked more like gastrointestinal discomfort.  

But Tweek next to him just tittered a little bit, and squeezed Craig’s hand— which the latter loosened once he realized he had a vice-like grip around Tweek’s left hand. He hoped he didn’t leave nerve damage. 

“Yeah. L-Last spring, Craig was helping me with, um, a really big case project, and...” Tweek gave a shy grin to Craig that only grew wider when he saw his confused green stare. His voice was fond. “Well, the rest is history!”

He’s not lying, Craig realized, that really  _ did  _ happen— all save for any romantic advances on either end. Tweek, exhausted from hours of brain-breaking labor, would pass out on his apartment floor. Craig would help him to bed, night after night, and practically moved in with him for how often he was there assisting him with math or with dishes or with falling asleep. 

And last spring was when the puzzle pieces fell into place— when Craig realized that people didn’t just carry their friends to bed bridal-style, or want to run their fingers through their friend’s hair. Craig realized he was in love with Tweek Tweak in the morning light of cold spring, when blue pen was smudged on his face and his hands were ice on Craig’s skin.

Huh. A blush grew, as his memory completed his emotion’s sentences. 

“I can’t believe you didn’t tell me about him!” Craig could hear his mom chiding, even as his mind was distant. “We would have had him for Thanksgiving!”

Tweek laughed graciously, pulling Craig down from the clouds. He felt his shaking fingers squeeze around his hand, and Craig squeezed back. The trembling slowed again. “I-It’s fine. I think my mom wanted m-me for one— for one major holiday.” 

“Where’re you from, Tweek?” Thomas asked. His plate had been emptied and his fork was now reaching over to Craig’s, stealing bites of potato, completely unfazed by his son’s glare.

“Um. J-Just outside of Denver, but on the no-north side.” Tweek answered, fingers tracing around a map only he could see. 

“How funny!” Mrs. Tucker nodded, finding much more humor in Tweek’s family home than Craig really did. As if she could sense his silent sass, Craig’s mom turned to him, questions ready on the tongue. Tweek started to eat with more gusto now, so Craig took it as a win, anyway. “Craig sweetie, do you know if Kenny and Leo are coming home?”

“No idea. Neither asked for a ride. Not that I’d’ve given them one.” Craig replied with a shrug. He honestly had no idea. Usually Kenny is bothering him about getting together over breaks— it was kind of strange he hadn’t brought up the whole fake-boyfriend-thing either. How blessed! He must not know. 

“Be nice.” Tweek muttered next to him, a little mashed potato smeared on his cheek. Craig tried not to laugh at his expression as soon as Tweek noticed the offense. 

“I am nice.” He shot back, eyebrows raised tauntingly. Tweek chuckled, his eyes rolling and his bottom lip pulled up between his teeth now.

Tweek paused for a moment, as if trying to find the chink in Craig’s armor of assholery, where he could reveal the soft underbelly of kind emotions. His fork clinked thoughtfully against his plate. “You’d give Butters one, at least.” 

“Eh.” But Craig shrugged again, teasing smile still in his eyes, if not on his face. 

“Oh, you would. Especially if I asked nicely.” Tweek said. The laughter in his voice made each word bubbly. Tweek jokingly fluttered his lashes, and Craig’s laugh was tinged with the truth that yeah, that probably was enough to get him too just about anything. 

The giggles shared between the two were so natural that Craig forgot his parents were even sitting across from them, watching them with simpering smiles like they were watching I Love Lucy or some shit. Craig flushed, and Tweek seemed to have come to the same realization, because he was bright red and staring down at his half-finished food.

Still, his parents laugh good-naturedly, and the meal ends quickly with Craig still clutching Tweek’s hand. Hesitantly, he lets go to rush his and Tweek’s plates into the kitchen. They drop into the sink with a bang and Craig leaves the water running for his mom. It’s a simple “good night” to his parents, and Tweek is following Craig back up to the bedroom.

Tweek’s hands were always ice. But for whatever reason, now that Craig wasn’t hold them, his own hands felt cold. 

The bedroom door closed heavy behind the pair, Do Not Enter sign banging violently against the wood. The awkwardness from earlier had been replaced with a new one, one less easily defined. Craig looked around the room, and his shoulders hunched as he offered, “Wanna, uh, play something? Most of my games are back at school, but…”

“Sure.” Tweek had already sat in front of Craig’s old TV, boxy and the most standard of standard definitions. His fingers started fiddling with whatever was closest— this time, an empty Blu-ray case for Shrek 2.

Craig worked in silence, switching out the cord of his DVD player for that of his PS2. All his good shit was back at school— and frankly, he’d probably have his PS2 there, too, if there were enough plugs. He held up one of his many NHL games, Resident Evil 4 and GTA like playing cards. Tweek picked the first and Craig booted it up.

It wasn’t unusual for them to exist like this: Craig half-playing a game while Tweek leaned against him, watching and commenting and chatting along. Tweek loved RPGs and games that allowed him time to think— and single-player  _ only _ . Otherwise, it was too much pressure.

But he also loved watching Craig play all the games he didn’t think himself good enough for, and the dark-haired man was more than happy to be Tweek’s personal lets play (even though he  _ swears  _ one of these days he’s gonna get Tweek to play couch co-op with him. He’d kick ass at Smash, 100%).

“Your parents are really nice.” Tweek said, voice lyrical over the PS2’s menu music. Craig hummed, encouraging his friend to keep talking. “They’re really cool. I was kind of surprised they were ok with me being a boy.”

“Oh yeah.” Craig hadn’t even thought twice about it. His nose scrunched as he realized how lucky he kind of was— Tweek’s tone sort of implied it wouldn’t be the same in his house. “They’re super chill. I came out to them at like… 10, cause I had this big crush on a guy with Tourette’s. They still won’t let it go.”

Tweek flinched at Craig’s cavalier tone, holding back from falling into his normal position against Craig’s shoulder. “That’s… kinda mean.” 

“What?” Craig expertly slapped a shot into the digital goalpost, using the post-goal celebration to look at a confused Tweek. “Oh, no no no. They don’t make fun of  _ him _ .”

“Oh god.” Understanding flooded Tweek’s voice, and his expression turned teasing, fond in its eye rolls. “What did you do?”

“I was ten, okay? No ten year old knows how to flirt.” And Craig knew his tone was awfully defensive for a decade-old offense— but still. Craig hardly knows how to flirt  _ now.  _ L et alone when he didn’t even know how to care about anything outside of his guinea pig.

“Now you have to tell me. What did you  _ do _ ?” Tweek’s hands were bunching up his pants, khaki and worn. His eyes were expectant and he seemed absolutely ravenous for whatever shreds of embarrassing-kid-Craig he could get. 

Craig considered it fair. After all, in junior year he didn’t stop cooing over a picture of baby Tweek for, like, three weeks. And he also kept taping copies of it to Tweek’s door. And Clyde’s door. And Token’s door. And— well, it’s fair to say that anyone who thinks Craig doesn’t have a sense of humor is right, because his sense of humor is killing a horse of a joke, and then beating it to life and then back to death again.

Short story long: Craig had his fun. It’s probably Tweek’s turn.

“It’s not  _ that  _ funny.” Craig prefaced, but Tweek was already giggling. “I thought asking someone to do their laundry was like… asking them out.”

“Oh my god.” And now the giggles had exploded into full-on infectious laughter. Craig missed an easy pass because Tweek’s smile was so enrapturing. He wasn’t complaining, really. “You were such a weird kid!”

“I don't know! My mom did my dad’s laundry, so I just, like, thought maybe—” Craig sputtered, trying to find a logical explanation for his actions when there was none. “I don’t know what I thought.”

“That’s adorable.” Tweek’s laughter had quieted a little, and he finally allowed his form to lean against Craig. He took comfort in the fact that his friend’s trembling was from residual chuckling. The blond laughed out: “And you do Clyde’s laundry all the time! You cad!”

“I just like doing laundry, okay?” Craig’s statement came out more impassioned than he meant, and it just sent Tweek into another laughing fit. God, his laughter was so charming. It felt like hot chocolate on a cold day, how it burns your throat and warms your core. 

“I wish I knew that, I would have had you doing my laundry for  _ years _ .” Tweek replied, and it took all of Craig’s strength not to immediately respond that yes, he’d do it, and he’d do it for the rest of his life if Tweek so much as smiled at him.

God, he was weak. And he just missed another easy goal. He’s not even playing with skill stick. Craig snuck a glance down at his phone, tucked under his thigh, and was greeted with an extremely unwelcome sight: 1:02 AM.

“Damn it.” He muttered, running a hand down his face. Stubble scratched at his fingertips— he really needed a shave. “Mom’s gonna wake us up so fucking early.”

“Wait, why?” Tweek had stood up in a flash, as though she were about to walk in the door right then and catch them nuzzled on the floor playing Chel— and as if that wouldn’t be a perfectly normal thing for a couple to do. There were a lot of weird mixed signals. It’s day one and this is already so  _ hard _ .

“I don’t know.” Craig stood then, too, turning his TV off without even pausing the game. “I don’t think she believes in sleeping in as, like, a concept.”

“Aw, shit.” Tweek’s face fell. Neither man liked waking up before noon if they could help it. Craig prayed that him having Tweek here would mean his mom would be generous with sleep time— if he were alone, he could count on an 8AM alarm in the form of her cheery voice.

“It’s fine. I’ll protect you from her early bird ways.” Craig shrugged, walking over to his closet and pulling out a pair of pajama pants and a ratty t-shirt. He had cut the arms off back in high school when he thought that was cool, and then cut it into a crop top for a costume party. It’s still comfy as hell even if it look stupid.

“Whatever you say.” And Tweek, too, was now rummaging through his stuff to procure his pajamas. Craig suddenly remembered the moment from earlier, and almost sprinted out of the room in order to not assault Tweek with his bare skin again.

“I’m gonna run to the bathroom to change.” He said in one breath, and then he was into the dark bathroom and into his pajamas in a matter of seconds. He tries to give Tweek enough time to change that also wasn’t a weirdly long amount of time, and gave a courtesy knock before stepping back into his bedroom.

But alas! He misjudged it, catching the tail end of Tweek slipping on his shirt. Guilt floods him as quickly as something like desire does. Craig admired Tweek’s toned back, so pale in the blue light of the moon, and his thick thighs in those plaid boxers, and—

Holy shit. Sharing a bed is  _ such  _ a bad idea. 

“Do you—” Craig stopped, turning ruby as his voice cracked. Tweek snorted but his eyes stayed downcast. The taller man crossed his arms over his bared stomach, trying to mitigate the crop-top situation. “Do you want the wall side.”

Even with his gaze averted, Tweek smiled, and hummed happily. “That would be great!”

Craig watched his friend hop up onto the bed, folding the covers back carefully and shimming under a navy sheet. He took a steadying breath and tried to remember that this is totally chill. It’s not like they’ve never shared beds before— they kind of do, a lot. But Tweek does have a queen, with plenty of room, and also they’ve never pretended to be dating before.

Regardless, he follows suit, and keeps himself to his edge of the bed as best he could. There’s practically another person’s worth of space between them, filled with that awkward air from before. Tweek is practically falling into the space between the bed and the wall, and Craig’s right asscheek (and leg, by association) were hanging in space. 

So Craig shuffled closer to the no-man’s-land middle, and with a quiet “come here,” Tweek does the same. They’re closer, closer, closer now. Their arms brush and fingers twitch right next to each other. Tweek is shaking again. Craig opens his mouth to speak, to try to dispel  _ whatever _ this bullshit is, but Tweek beats him to the punch.

“Those are cute.” Sleepiness had already infected the blond’s voice. Craig followed his blue line of sight to the ceiling, where above them glowing stars shone. There were probably four dozen of those glow-in-the-dark stickers up there, collected over years.

“Thanks.” Craig replied lowly. He felt like he should be whispering, even if ten minutes before they weren't. “I’ve had them for ages. Tried to make them into constellations.”

“Wow. Can you—” A yawn interrupted Tweek, and he ran his hands through his fair hair, smoothing it behind him. “Tell me about them?”

Craig lifts his arm, the one not brushing Tweek’s, and pointed at the biggest star on the angled ceiling. “That’s Sirius. Brightest star in the night sky. Over there, is Vega. The fifth brightest, and in the constellation Lyra.” 

It feels like only a minute before Craig’s voice slows, and he looks over to see Tweek sound asleep. His arm drops gently, and pride wells up in his chest. Tweek’s told him he’s the only one able to get him to sleep— the shorter man will call him often to talk before bed, assuming they’re not sleeping in the same place. Craig loves being able to help him get rest. The bags under his eyes, cute as they are, also worry him sometimes.

But right now Craig smiles as he watches Tweek’s chest move slowly, and then frowns when he realizes how kind of creepy it is to watch his best friend sleep, so he forces his eyes to stare back up at his sticker-stars before sleep takes him in its welcoming embrace. 

Craig dreams often, in flashing colors and muted sounds. This dream is no different, all yellows and greens and laughter. 

Hands are dancing up his stomach and onto his chest, spreading pale white against his tanned torso. They rub around to his shoulders, arms squeezing tight around him, and he feels warmth like cinnamon whiskey running through his bones. 

There’s a thrumming sound, like distant drums. It’s calming, and holds Craig within his dreams. Even as the rest of it fades away, Craig doesn’t have to search for that sound. It remains with him, within him. 

His eyes flutter open and are met with light he recognizes as late morning’s. Two slow, heavy breaths in and Craig realizes that not all the warmth left with his dreams. He’s ended up on his stomach— not unusual, really. What is unusual is his arm, thrown across a pale torso, and his head, held to a pale chest by pale, freckled arms.

Holy  _ shit _ . 

He tries to glance up, see if Tweek was awake, but slow breathing told Craig that his friend was still sleeping soundly. The drums were still pounding and Craig realized that it was Tweek’s heartbeat that lulled him through his dreams.

Staying as still as he could, Craig tried to take a re-stock of the situation: Tweek is holding him, and he’s kind of holding Tweek, and Tweek is still blessedly sleeping. 

And all Craig can think is “oh no.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> old spice is like my fave scent im ngl. please feel free to leave suggestions as to how craig should smell because i used up all my good ideas on tweek

**Author's Note:**

> please come hang out with me on twitter @ [breadpoetsociet](https://twitter.com/breadpoetsociet) and tumblr @ [breadpoetsociety](https://breadpoetsociety.tumblr.com)


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